Portrait Of Forgery
by just-a-shadow-of-death
Summary: Before he was Neal - Peter had him on file as 'James Bonds'. Many near-encounters between Peter and Neal. This fic takes place before the actual series. Warning - cursing, , slow updates, violence, whumpage and this is complete fiction.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Peter saw him, It was at the Metropolitan Museum. Loud and crowded, paintings from Italy showed works from the most prestigious of painters - Bellini, Titian, and Lorenzo Lotto – all their works displayed for a month and of course, their James Bonds wouldn't have been able to resist.

Baby blue eyes were frozen on him. Peter wasn't positive, he had never actually seen his clear face other then that grainy video taken from a private showing last month but a grainy one is better then nothing – and by the way his pierce criminal was looking, Peter didn't think he had the wrong man.

"Eyes on James Bonds," he spoke into his wrist collar, a small microphone secured to it. Peter's heart hammered against his rib cage, this man was far younger then he had expected, his stance hyper. Guess he had caught him by surprise! Peter threatened to show his smirk but the young man beat him to it. His appearance changing from that of an innocent boy to the cocky – egoist whom they had previously believed. Peter cursed when the young man started walking off -slowly, as no-one was threatening to catch him.

Suave with a very rich looking outfit, James Bonds charmed his way around women and men surrounding crowded areas. Peter grinded his teeth together, _Now where could he have possible stolen that from?_ He had to check out thefts committed the past few weeks.

Peter followed him carefully, side-stepping any tourists and apologizing to those whom he stepped on. His con man seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, 'cause he also gave the impression of having caught sight of him and swiftly moved left and right, dodged him and then went into another crowd gathered around a Bellini painting. There was static in his ear and Peter pressed a finger into his ear piece, "what is it?" he whispered.

"We have the area surrounded," Diana – the newest agent transferred from D.C spoke – there was pleasure in her tone, as if glad everything was coming to an end. Peter thought otherwise.

For a second, Peter had him lost but then his eyes regained the sight of him, Bonds looked back with skepticism. Peter hustled forward, shoulder butting a man who was sweating profoundly. The agent gave him a weary look but moved forward.

James Bonds was talking to a security guard shielding a door. The guard seemed bent on whatever the con-man was saying. He watched the guard nod and then open the door with keys that were anchored to his belt. Peter clenched his fist and walked three steps at a time and almost slammed the guard with his fist, "Open the door," he quickly ordered, pulling out his Id and badge, "hurry up!" The guard looked at him bewildered – but did nothing to open up the door.

"I'm sorry I can't." He said. _the balls of this man_! Peter cringed and fisted his vest, slamming the flimsy body into the wall behind them.

"You just let a thief walk into that room-" he hammered, "or were you assisting him in getting through?" He asked, squinting his eyes and hinting at another possibility.

The guard jerked himself of of Peter's grip and stuttered, "no…no.. he is the manager. He just said, he is…" Realization struck the man and he questioned no more.

Peter shook his head, "Open the door." The guard did as he was told, Peter let out a low growl. _He was really good!_ Who knew how far James Bonds was by now, "What's inside this room?" he asked.

"A private exhibition."

"Any doors that takes you out the building."

The guard nodded, "Yes, but it's from the basement. You have go through private corridors but I doubt that'll help the guy." He opened the door, inviting Peter in.

"What do you mean, doubt?"

"All rooms are locked except for the exists. It'll stop him."

Something inside Peter melted and he smiled, throwing a 'thank you' to the shaken guard and asking him to be quiet for the evening, Peter entered a room full of rich art and paintings from all over the world. 'The Coe Collection of American Indian Art', 'Chinese Hardstone Carving', Some Egyptian pharos, _Yeah_, he had done his homework on the current displays. He looked around, pulling out his gun. He wasn't going to shoot, on account they wouldn't be able to pay anything off, Peter pictured Hughes aging twenty years hearing of an accident. He just needed to freeze the sly con-artist. The front door to the room opened again, and the guard chimed keys at him.

"You are going to need these to open up the doors, they lock themselves from behind." Peter agreed and took the keys from him. Hoping James Bonds haven't reached for an exist yet!

The room was empty, Peter did a double take, there were carvings protected in glass boxes and art securely attached to the wall, nothing was missing, obviously James Bonds wasn't going to wait and acknowledge a single painting while someone chased after him. He heard a door open and close, Peter ran to the far side of the room and entered a red carpeted corridor, there were many doors to the place but one slightly ajar. Peter made a dash towards it and caught sight of James Bonds popping inside another room. He wrestled with the keys and pulled one out, opening the door wide and catching his thief throw a stiff look at him.

He had keys while Bonds had to be on his knee's and use dirty tricks to open the door. "Don't move," he charged, pulling his gun towards the stoop man who rose from his kneeling position, hands slowly falling in defeat. Peter smirked_, finally!_ "Hands where I can see them!"

"I'm not armed."

"I said," Peter cringed his teeth and spoke grimly, "Hands where I can see them." _'Not so sly now, was he?'_ James Bonds stood to his core. Face frozen in what looked like fear and his eyes on the gun, he was calculating something_, thinking_, and Peter took slow steps to force the young man to stop from whatever it was he was planning, he honestly didn't want to shoot. He was feet's away and the other man wasn't moving, neither was he raising his hands.

Bonds bit his lip and then gazed at his eyes. "Well…."

"I've got you!" Peter bashed.

"Not really," What looked like hands raising, Peter stopped and anticipated the man to just give up, instead, one of Bonds hand went behind him, turning the knob and entered a room like lightning. Peter dazed- slammed his body into the door, preventing the man from closing it. The con-man dug sharp nails into his fingers and Peter let the door scream shut and locked. He quickly pulled out keys, cursing and hunching, _he just let him pass._ He was going to shoot him and that's that!

The door opened just in time for him to gaze on the left exist door closing. No! Peter ran as fast as he could, "Stop" he yelled to the young man at the end of the stairs, but no such thing happened. His con-artist was much younger and faster then him. "Secure exist on 86th street," the lashing agent screamed at his microphone.

James Bonds, who was at the end of his limits, pushed an exist door which didn't budge and hearing the Agent call out orders to secure his only way of escape, the con-artist was appearing to panic. He went down another floor and reached the basement, looked left and right, only one other exist to go._ Too far!_ The heavy exist door behind him almost ripped of it's metallic hinges and Bonds stumbled to the end, an exist inches away from his left. He swallowed hard as a pissed off and enraged Agent waved a gun in front of his face.

"You shouldn't have ran!"

There was sweat on his forehead, body trembling and his tongue tied, he breathed in and out, mind racing a million miles if possible. "You were going to shoot," he lied, having nothing else to say. He really thought he could getaway, but this Agent was really hard to shake. His hands rose up in defeat and he backtracked his movements, hitting his shins on an old copper heater. He swallowed as the agent walked towards him, shoving his gun into his holster.

The Agent walked close to him and took a painful hold of his wrist-turning him around, the young man cried softly, "unnecessary force." He quipped.

Peter squeezed the young man's wrist, using more force then required. "cry me a river -" The back of James Bonds' head hit Peter's chest and he looked up at brown amused eyes. Handcuffs were securing his wrists and James looked timid. Peter turned him around once he was done.

The tall agent smirked in victory, so young and naïve. "What's your name?" he asked in suspicion.

The young man gave an honest smile and Peter's heated rage dissolved into liquid. "You've been after me for two months-" _It was actually six but if the young man thought otherwise, it would be embarrassing to correct,_ "and you don't even know my name?" he raised eyebrows innocently, "And here I thought I had a hardcore, FBI agent who knew everything about me and was always steps ahead of me." James shrugged his shoulders, "I'm offended."

Peter gave a foxy smirk which looked more like a smile, "Name?" he asked. James shook his head stubbornly. Peter nodded, he wasn't going to make this easy but no worries there.

Gun Shots.

_Did he hear correctly?_ The young man looked at him crazed and Peter threw his ' hardcore' self-being into the young man, slamming him hard into the wall, "TELL ME THAT'S NOT PART OF YOUR PLAN?"

The man shook his head, "I swear."

His phone rang and Peter answered it immediately, "Talk to me Diana,"

"Gun shots on far East side of the Museum." There was hesitance in her voice, "a young girl is dead." Peter enraged and looked at his startled thief, who whispered 'I swear' repeatedly – _talk about double standards_. It was out of character, this man couldn't be part of the shots heard upstairs, but people **change**! "I'm in the basement on east side I think. The shots sounded nearby, Diana-where are you?"

"Peter, he is heading straight towards YOU,"

"What? He's in the staircase?"

"Yes."

Peter looked at James Bonds and then behind him where the exist door was. Should he take his eyes away from the thief or get an upper hand on a killer. Not a moment to waste and Peter stepped back, "If you even think of running! I'll shoot you in the leg and If I find out the killer was with you – **god help me**!" he threatened.

The man sighed, nodding. "I won't run." He was lying and Peter could see right through it, he didn't believe any word that came out of that silver tongue. More gun Shots and Peter turned around completely, benefiting from getting the surprise advantage on the killer.

A man appeared to be in his forties, frenzy and holding a gun up. This man, Peter grasped an image of him shouldering past this killer up stairs, this was the same man he had thought suspicious earlier. Peter furrowed his brows and pulled a hand towards his holster to pull out his gun. Sweat and nervous – he had seen him moments ago but hadn't stopped.

The agent heard doors slamming behind him but he didn't throw a glimpse to know that James Bonds was gone. Wrath and blood boiled in him as the man ahead of him even thought of the idea of shooting him, "Get the fuck down," the man cursed, limping towards him. He was shot in the leg. Doors opened again and Diana with Jones and more officers appeared, surrounding the killer. Peter pulled out his own gun, pointing between the man's eyes.

The killer looked front and back, guns pointed straight at him. There was no way out and he knew it. His body crumbled like a rag doll. Gun falling from his hands and getting on his knees. Diana came up from behind and cuffed him. "I didn't mean it, I didn't know…." He started spluttering anything and everything towards Diana.

"You have the right to remain silence-" Jones began to say his Miranda rights, "Anything you say can will be used…"

Peter stood silently, breathing in the stench that the basement offered. "I had him!" he hissed, evidently talking about James Bonds. He walked down towards the last exist, opening the door to breath in the fresh scent. He looked around, two cop cars were parked up front, but no one was inside it. The orders to follow the killer had been pushed to first priority, which Peter didn't think was a bad call.

There was a garbage truck that was pulling up, Peter approached a short man with fake blonde hair and asked him if he'd seen anyone run away, he pointed up north and Peter huffed. "We need to check the truck for security reasons." He said, calling out two cops to check for anything, just in case.

Jones walked behind Peter, "Sorry, we had to get the guy before he went on a rampage.."

"two shots?"

"More…three are injured and one dead."

Peter looked back in horror, he had been so busy with his forger that he hadn't looked out for any other suspicious behavior going on. "I saw him upstairs, he was sweaty and nervous. I should have known!"

"It's not your fault." Jones began, "You couldn't have known he was a killer,"

Peter shook his head, looking back at the killer coming out with hands cuffed behind his back. An ambulance made it's way and parked next to the two cop cars, "Diana, we need to search the surrounding area's. James Bonds couldn't have gone far! "Diana handed the killer over to a paramedic and ran around the building- speaking hastily into her cell. Jones followed. Peter stayed back, looking around. He walked further and stood staring at the far reservoir in his view.

A sanitation worker came out of the garbage truck and smiled at him, Peter smiled back.

++)

"That costume looks good on you," Neal mocked as Moz entered the garbage truck and closed the door behind him.

"It's getting you out." Moz replied, smirking as the man spoke quietly.

"I can't believe he didn't see through those eyebrows and that hair," Neal laughed from the vent under the passenger seat. "but well worth the try!"

Moz laughed back. "You were close, Neal." He said, getting serious. He started the truck and looked out the window. "You should be glad I have your back."

"Where did you find this old piece from?" Neal slapped the metal under him.

"Custom made truck."

"You should have told me you were coming with a monster?"

Moz didn't say anything, instead he pulled out slowly. Making sure nothing came off suspicious and carefully pulled out from the backyard, "Hope you find him!" Moz screamed.

"Moz!" Neal warned.

"have to make it seem real." Moz didn't do much instead of driving slow and watching the Suits run away in search for a man he was harboring. "Did anything happen?" besides the swollen wrists. He gave him an eyeful as Neal crawled out of the vent..

"I got cuffed, that's all." He rubbed tenderly at his wrists, "and I know how he looks."

Moz drove of into traffic whilst Peter and the crew began a search for James Bonds that wasn't going to give good results. "And he knows how **you** look!"

==)

That night, Peter stood in front of a projector screen with a frozen picture on it. The picture of a killer – an anxious wreck waiting to shred away the last of his humanity – Peter stared at him in disgust. He was right there, he could have stopped this before it even began.

"Peter?" Diana called, her jacket in her hand as she was ready to leave.

"I'll leave in a while." He said.

"Don't stay too long, It wasn't your fault." She headed down the stairs and Peter stared after her.

_Wasn't it_? Not only did the killer get what he wanted, James Bonds also made an escape. Two different incidents in the same place, _coincidence?_ He had to find out in an early interview with the killer. Someone was dead, there was nothing bringing that little girl back. The killer, whose name was unknown and still being run through database was subjected to safe housing, while the family suffered the consequence.

And James Bonds. Peter shook his head, Bonds had expertly dodged almost all the camera's in the museum but the few recovered with his face seemed enough, it was enough to know how he looked. And that image that Peter had held for the last six months was a real offense to the real thing. He had also managed to get past the cameras from the police cars, which might have been accidental as the cars were facing the reservoir then the back doors of the museum. But still!

Frustration- he needed to go home. It was late!

++)

**This is the first of my many near-encounters between Neal and peter. This fic takes place before the series started. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Neal was offended when Mozie suggested a move-out. He tapped his foot lightly on the carpeted living room and crossed his arms over his chest. They had lived here for six months – more then anywhere else – and all of a sudden an emergency vacating was in order. "He won't find us." Neal locked humble eyes with his friend.

Moz wasn't assured. "That Suit is very good," raising a finger at the uneager young man. "They know your face, they have those soft wares that could recognize you." He threw some files into a moving box, "they'll be knocking those doors soon." He fixed his eyes on doors behind Neal.

"Moz, please."

"Nope."

Neal swallowed his irritability and stared up at the wall. _Why was he working with this man?_ He needed a bit reminding. The young con-man watched as his older friend gathered everything and threw them in boxes. Mixing clothes and shoes and dishes and anything else lying around. _That's right, he was going to make him rich, all those promises and plans. He was his friend, now._

It had been two weeks since their last incident. He had heard nothing, seen nothing and no news about him had appeared. The only news that came out of the Metropolitan Museum was an arrest of an old boyfriend looking to kill his ex-girlfriend. _Why were they moving now? If the Agent had known where he lived, he would be in jail at this time._

"Moz?" he asked.

"What?" came a nonchalant reply.

"Where are we going?"

++)

"Alright, what's the occasion?" Elizabeth removed an extra glass from Peter's hand and stared at him dubiously.

Peter smirked and dragged Elizabeth down into their brown leather couch. "Surprise!" he said, raising his glass and clinking it with his wife's.

Elizabeth didn't gather, "This is a surprise," she looked down at her wine, "Am I missing something?"

Peter took a sip and set his glass on a coffee stand next to him. He squeezed his wife's palm and looked at her deeply, "We are buying a house!" he said.

There was a moment of hesitancy and bewilderment before Elli could speak again, "Can we afford one?"

"With my new raise we can." Peter smiled, affectedly making his wife smile too. She seemed proud and amused, her eyes sparkling under the bright lights. The FBI agent shoved himself closer to his wife and kissed her cheek, "And with your new Job, I think we can finally get a house we can call home." He stood up and put his hands on his hips, "So?" he asked in approval.

"This is good news, Peter." Elli stood likewise, "But I get to chose which house we get." She smiled and walked towards the kitchen – which was a few steps from the living room – "not that I doubt you don't know anything about houses." She gave him a fake pout.

"Wouldn't go house-hunting without you." He admitted.

++)

"Here," Diana handed Peter a paper filled box.

"What's this?" he asked. Looking down and pushing a few papers around, "Oh, never mind." He dismissed when he realized the papers were reports on James Bonds.

Two weeks ago, a crazed man had gone on a rampage in hopes of killing his ex-girlfriend. He had failed, shooting three others and killing a young innocent girl instead. Peter and the team had been convinced that their own 'James Bonds' had been a part of the shooting. But blabber mouth had admitted to everything, even though his lawyer wasn't present – that – and interviews with the shooting victims and the original target had proven 'James Bonds' above suspicion and the killer working alone.

Peter had requested the reports he had done on James Bonds returned, which included the video footage of his young thief. He laid the box in his office floor and walked around to their meeting room. Jones was ready for their next case and handing out files.

"We have news on an illegal gambling ring in Manhattan," Jones gave Peter the last file, "they've been running for a while now."

"How long?" Peter asked, pulling a chair next to Diana.

"About two weeks." Jones pressed play on his remote, a slide projector viewing a very shaky and a poor quality video. "This was confiscated from a body found yesterday in an alley way down Lexington Ave., we have reasons to believe he was spying on key players on his table."

"He was killed for spying, why is the video still on him?"

"He wasn't murdered for spying, he could have been killed because he owned money – maybe?" Jones asserted.

Peter went through the papers, "How do we know it's been around for two weeks?"

"The warehouse they are located in was rented by an unknown suspect two weeks ago. Before that, the warehouse was empty."

"And how did you know the address?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Victim had it written on a paper that he carried."

Peter set his file on the glass table and heaved, "I'm guessing it wasn't our division who found him?"

"Ah, no. But it fell in our jurisdiction and Agent Hughes authorized us to take the case."

"Alright." Peter scratched his chin, "No wallet?" he asked.

"Yeah, his name is Michael Mace and he is 29. Worked in Starbucks."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Well, run his DNA and find contacts." Peter lifted himself from his spot and gave out orders. Diana was to run DNA and Jones to review the video more intently. The other two agents in the room were to spy on the warehouse, any suspicious activity could help them.

==)

"Are you seriously stealing a phone line?"

Moz clipped two wires together and looked down at the man holding his chair, "Well, I'm not buying a service, but if you want to – go ahead."

Neal shook his head, "Unbelievable," This new apartment was a joke!

"Go check," Moz nudged Neal to go inside, "See if we can make a call, now!" He emphasized.

"Right." Neal went back in and turned on the phone. Cleary they were in service, Moz sent down a fiery smile and proudly brought the chair back in. He had done this many times before.

He sat down on an old dusty chair and handed Neal a business card, "Call him,"

Neal looked down at a number and then at Moz. They were moving on to their next heist, the last one had completely failed. _Was it safe to go back out on another one?_ Well, Moz thought so. Behind the card, there was a name_,_ _Jeremy Timon._ "Who is he?"

"He started a gambling ring in New York. It's been running for over six months," Moz smirked, "Right under the Suits' noses."

"Is that safe?"

"No! But that doesn't stop him from making millions of dollars." The short man pushed his agenda, alluring the younger man into his plans, "We can make a lot of money in one go," he suggested. Gaining a small sign of approval from the other, Moz continued, "He has made a lot of millionaires from people like us. Are you in?"

Neal nodded, "Well, I can't say _No_."

"Can you count cards?"

The con-man smiled, "I'm a pro at it."

Moz smirked.

"We need $100,000 by Friday. It's our only way in!" Neal sank into his chair.

"No problem there." Moz said, not concerned with their money shortage.

Neal looked at Moz absent mindedly, "Where will we get that much money from?"

"We aren't. We are going to forge $100,000."

Neal's eyes lit up in shock. "Wow, Moz. You really are something. Can we forge that much money in one day?"

"Yes, We can!"

Neal rolled his eyes.

"Who here knows how to play cards." Peter looked towards Jones hopefully.

Jones shook his head. Diana didn't bother looking from her papers.

"Hey, didn't you go undercover a few years back in a similar case." Jones asked.

Diana got their attention. "Tell me more."

Peter's ears turned pink as Jones reminded him of their very embarrassing encounter with a mob boss.

"Yeah, he went as Samuel Johnson and almost got himself killed."

"Samuel Johnson?" Diana repeated.

"Samuel Johnson, from Mexico with a very high reputation in dealing drugs." Jones wavered his hands comically.

"Enough!" Peter said. If it wasn't for the funny story, Diana would have guessed Peter was more angry then embarrassed about the situation.

"Samuel, Should go." Diana stated, Jones agreed.

"I can't play."

Diana pouted, "You don't have to. We just need to spy for at least ten minutes and it's over. They are all coming under!"

Jones looked at is watch. "Our money should be cleared by now. Lets buy you a ticket."

==)

"Nick Halden."

"Hmm,"

"Here's your ticket." A female clerk handed him a small ticket. Nick winked and walked away.

"Surprise, surprise," Peter smiled inside their van. "Would you look at that?"

"This is most interesting, " Jones added.

Diana took a few pictures of 'James Bonds' coming out and getting into a taxi. They finally had clear pictures of their long termed theif, con-man. She smirked and set the camera back down. "Peter, you have thirty minutes left." She reminded him of their due payment.

"Yeah, I'm going." Peter fixed a cap on his head and unzipped his sweater half way, looking like a typical lowlife gambler.

"Money-" Jones gave him a duffle bag filled with $100 bills. "Go get them."

"-tiger" Diana added.

The old warehouse stunk like old fish. Peter had to cover his nose with his sleeve, which didn't help at all.

There wasn't anything inside the warehouse. The place was empty except for a desk with a computer and a clerk standing behind it. She smiled when he moved forward. "Am I in the wrong place?" He asked.

The clerk smirked. "Depends what you are after." She knew he was here for gambling. Guess looks do matter.

On his way forward. Two men approached behind him, one putting a gun to his temple and the other taking the bag from him. "What's the password?" the man with the gun to his temple asked.

Right, the password. One of his spy agents had recovered the information very easily. "_Cima da Conegliano_, Did I say that correctly?" Peter stared at the clerk. "Not even close!" The guy who had taken his bag entered a room far left of where they stood. "Have to count them first," The woman said, understanding Peter's confusion. The agent nodded.

_}

"How did it go?" Jones asked as Peter entered their van.

"Not bad. They took my picture and name and gave me an address different then our current location!"

"Different location?"

"Yeah.." Peter sighed, "This place is clean, except for the awful smell."

[]


End file.
